


Heads Like Flowers

by glittercantbestopped



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And sort of about Draco, For Want of a Nail, Gen, Mostly gen and mostly cannon relationships, Some may change, This is mostly about the Black sisters, but mostly the Black sisters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:53:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittercantbestopped/pseuds/glittercantbestopped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night, the night after Albus Dumbledore dies, Narcissa Malfoy steps inside of Grimmauld place, waiting for her son.<br/>One night, the night after Albus Dumbledore dies, Andromeda Tonks steps inside of Grimmauld place, with her sister's son.</p><p>The Death Eaters were delayed and did not make it to the tower until after Draco had accepted Dumbledore's offer of protection in exchange for the information he and his mother have.</p><p> </p><p>Title from "My Mother Would be a Falconress" by Robert Duncan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh Sister, I've Had Better Days

**Author's Note:**

> This premise has been done to absolute death but I'm still fascinated with it. And as the tags should have told you, I'm mostly fascinated with how the Black sisters would deal with it. This does, however, break off into multiple POVs as the character's split up, so the trio and Draco will be given their due course.  
> And a warning: I am not very sympathetic toward Draco outside of the sympathy I have for him being young, sometimes not knowing any better, and being used by Voldemort. He's still a bully and immature in a lot of ways. I do think he becomes an alright human being after the war, so that is reflected here. I want to portray him as a kid who has been raised in a sheltered, privileged, and prejudiced house, who is also very scared and capable of learning. But who will probably remain somewhat of an asshole for the rest of his life. If only to make himself feel better.  
> Pairings inside of the main/already established ones are set in stone, those outside of that are not. However, romance is not the focus of this story.  
> That said, please enjoy and leave feed back if you can! Finally got this edited by the best human ever AKA my friend Alicia.

  Grimmauld Place was distinct from when she had last set foot in it. It had never been a cheerful or welcoming place but it had been a part of home in her younger years and Narcissa had fond memories of its looming walls and old, not-to-be touched furnishings. It was disorienting and familiar all at once. She stepped inside behind Andromeda’s daughter, her niece, she supposed absently. Its new occupants apparently hadn’t found some of its relics as amusing as Narcissa’s relatives had.  

          The house, while still not particularly welcoming, had warmed. The old furniture had mostly been replaced with mismatched tables and couches of no doubt dubious origin. The walls were lighter and the curtains were flung open to let in the dimming sunset. There was only the heavy drapery in front of Aunt Walburga’s portrait and the lumpy umbrella stand that her niece had almost kicked on her way in to suggest what the house had been under her aunt’s care. Narcissa, for all the poor aesthetics of the new decor, would admit that it was far friendlier and more preferred. She particularly approved of the drape covering her aunt. Such a loud painting was in poor taste. One would have never found such a thing in her home. As her mother had told her, paintings should only speak when spoken to.

          Nymphadora, _her niece_ she reminded herself again, placed a finger on her lips and jerked a thumb to the portrait. They passed by it quietly. Narcissa had been engaged to Lucius when Walburga had the painting commissioned. By then her already delicate mind had become almost unmanageable and she had spent the entire evening of the unveiling marching through the rooms and speaking loudly and drunkenly. It had been an embarrassment all around and one of the last few times she had seen her aunt before Walburga had to be sent to the healers. Walburga had died, in a secluded wing of St. Mungo’s, mad and too young, raving about both of her lost sons. Narcissa shivered lightly. Her own son was coming to her, found and not lost. Severus had made certain and Dumbledore, she pursed her lips at his name, had given them an out. The years had taught her to bend her pride- if only for family, if only for her son- and she had taken the offer.

          Her niece, who was levitating the trunks that Narcissa had filled, kept sneaking glances at her through her shocking pink hair. She had yet to say much beyond her instructions, sneaking nervous glances at her aunt. Narcissa had known, of course, that Nymphadora was a metamorphmangus, but in her mind she had always pictured Nymphadora as a smaller version of Andromeda, which a serious mouth and straight posture. Stern and unmovable.

Nymphadora was clearly not. She favored her father in her face and, Narcissa noted with some surprise, herself in her stature if Narcissa was ever inclined to slouch so. All of this, of course, might not be her niece’s normal attire. Her hair certainly was not.

          “I have heard that you are an Aurora, Nymphadora.” Narcissa said once they were well out of the portrait’s range and to the kitchen, if only to stop the girl from squinting at her. Nymphadora jerked visibly and blinked up at her. She was a short girl.

          “Oh, yeah. Passed my exams a year ago or so. And it’s Tonks. Or, I prefer it over Nymphadora.” She pulled a disgruntled face as she said her own name.

          “Nymphadora is a perfectly respectable name. It has a long and impressive history within our family.” Narcissa told her, taking a seat in one of the chairs and looking about the room. Here, little had changed, although they had made some updates and added some appliances that Narcissa was unfamiliar with. Nymphadora’s face screwed up further.

          “Yeah well, still wish my dad had won that coin toss. He wanted to name me Lucy. Way simpler for a five year old to spell, I’ll tell you that.” Nymphadora said as she rummaged through the cabinet and produced a kettle which she filled and boiled with a quick murmur.

          “Is Earl Grey alright? We haven’t made much of a grocery run this month and its all we have at the moment.” 

          Narcissa nodded and declined to comment further on Nymphadora’s name. Instead she asked,

          “When will I see my son?”

          Nymphadora placed a chipped mug beside Narcissa, sloshing some of the water onto the table. Narcissa again pursed her lips. She had no wand currently to clean it up, so she picked up the mug delicately and took a sip. The water was lukewarm.

          “He should be here soon. Shacklebolt was looking after him. They just need to make sure of what’s going on before he can come here.” Nymphadora smiled at her, trying to be encouraging. Narcissa found little comfort in the reassurances of a child. She smiled thinly at her niece and continued to sip her unsatisfactory tea while her niece sipped her own and fidgeted. Nymphadora didn’t seem able to look at her for very long before she was glancing around the room. Narcissa found that she was the same, although more composed. 

          Narcissa had never spent much time in the kitchen of Grimmauld place. She had never snuck down in the middle of the night like Sirius and Bellatrix had. Kreature had always been eager to bring his small masters and mistresses little snacks when they were restless. No Black would have ever been made to make their own meal. Her aunt would have been scandalized at the thought. Narcissa dragged her eyes away from the dark cabinets and to her niece who was circling her finger along the edge of her mug. Nymphadora was making an effort to not look at her directly but was giving her quick side glance, reverting back to her squinting. Narcissa ignored her and stared off at the wall and drank her cooling tea.

          Their cups had been left beside them, empty for almost a half an hour when they heard the commotion at the door and the terrible screaming of that dreadful portrait. Narcissa was out of her chair and almost down the hallway, quicker than a broom, but her niece was faster still. She had leapt from her seat and sprinted from the kitchen, Narcissa behind her. They rounded the corner, passed the almost familiar rooms, to find her son. And her sister.

          Andromeda was wrestling with the drape while Draco stood back from it, stunned and gaping at his great aunt, shrieking as madly as the real woman had. Narcissa found herself quite stunned as well. There were silver streaks in her sister’s dark hair and small lines against her eyes but despite the years, Andromeda looked as she had the day she’d left. Her hair was pulled back neatly onto her head and her jaw was clenched in frustration. She looked as Bellatrix would have looked, had Azkaban not stripped away all of the beauty she’d held in youth. 

          Nymphadora went immediately to assist her mother and the two struggled with the drapery for a moment. Narcissa pulled her gaze from her sister and brought it to her son. Draco was pale, breathing heavily, and his clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. His wand hand clenched and unclenched. He looked terribly, terribly young and distressingly old. Narcissa went to him and gathered him into her arms automatically. He jerked away, at first, having not noticed her, casting his eyes wildly about until they settled on her. He went stiff then, unmoving when he recognized her, before collapsing and becoming small in her arms. Narcissa let out a sigh that involuntarily changed to a sob once it had passed her lips. Her son was shaking in blood stained clothes in the house of her mad aunt while a blood traitor and half blood watched them fall apart and a painting screamed at them in long dead fury. But she, Narcissa Malfoy, Narcissa Black, had not cried since she had been a child herself and knew that this was not a time to begin again. She clamped her lips shut and let her son shiver against her. She was keenly aware of the eyes on her back. 

          Once Draco had calmed she gently pulled away and began to check him for any sign of injury, quickly checking his face and arms. She did not let herself look too long at the mark against his wrist.

          “He’s fine, Narcissa. We had him looked over by Pomfrey.” Andromeda said, from behind her. Narcissa allowed her lips to tighten only fractionally before she turned around. Andromeda stood in the middle of the hallway with her arms crossed loosely. Her daughter was to the side looking between her mother and her aunt, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Andromeda offered Narcissa a glance before she looked beyond Narcissa and addressed Draco.

          “This is Nymphadora, Draco, your cousin.” Andromeda told him. Nymphadora shot her mother an annoyed look at the use of her given name but declined to make any further protest. Draco looked at her warily, unsure what to make of his cousin’s flamboyant appearance. He twisted up his lip in mild distain for a moment before deflating and nodding to his cousin who gave him a cheery wave and a bright smile.

          “Wotcher!” She said, springing back and forth on her heals and toes, “Now that we’ve all been woken up, how’s about we go in and have some dinner? Eh?” She looked around hopefully at her mother and her aunt, who were both staring above the other’s head. Andromeda considered it for a moment and gave a slight nod.

          “Why don’t you get Draco settled in, Dora. He’s had a bad night.” Andromeda said without glancing away from the distant spot over her sister. Narcissa, after a moment, gave a slow nod in return. Draco made his way warily to a now grinning Nymphadora and followed her down the hall with a glance to his mother. Then their children were gone and for the first time in over twenty years, Narcissa and Andromeda were alone together. Andromeda’s gaze swept over Narcissa, taking in all the changes that the years had granted her, as Narcissa had done.

          “I never expected to be back here again.” Andromeda said, addressing the hallway more than her sister. She dropped her gaze and looked around herself and into the side rooms filled with furniture that did not belong.

          “Nor I.” Narcissa admitted. Andromeda flashed her a quick grin before walking into the room to their left. The sitting room. Narcissa followed, more from instinct than intent. She had forgotten how bright her sister’s smile was. As a child, Narcissa had cultivated the small, delicate smile of a lady, polite and agreeable and Bella had never smiled when she could smirk or sneer. Andromeda had always grinned with crinkled eyes and white teeth. Seeing it all these years later made Narcissa dizzy from the oddness of it. So she sat lightly on the least offensive chair available, although she felt the need to collapse heavily onto the maroon monstrosity of a couch across from her and refuse to ever get up again. She crossed her ankles to the side and watched her sister round the room, inspecting shelves and windows.

          “They did a good job cleaning up the place. It’s been a bit of battle, from what Dora tells me.” Andromeda commented, looking to Narcissa.

          “Walburga had begun to let the place go, toward the end. There was only one house elf left when she was moved out.” Narcissa said, watching her sister as well.

          “Really? What happened to him?” Andromeda asked, sitting across from her on that dreadful maroon couch. She sunk low into it and watched her sister as well.

          “I’m not sure. I hadn’t given it any thought. Dead, I expect.” Narcissa said, with a sniff. Andromeda frowned but did not comment. They sat together, in silence, across from one another and closer than they had been in years, even before Andromeda had left for her mudblood. Andromeda had always been a distant island to Narcissa, filled with her odd island life that could have never thrived on Narcissa’s own sprawling continent. Andromeda had, unlike Sirius, drifted slowly from them, inch by inch and year by year until she was far out to sea and barely reachable. Narcissa, stubbornly, told herself she hadn’t wished to reach out. Her sister had made herself quite clear in her quiet retreat and Narcissa had quietly let her go and quietly stayed. 

          Theirs had always been a quiet relationship.

          “How is Bellatrix? Still raving mad?” Andromeda asked, picking at the couch in careful disinterest. Narcissa stiffened then relaxed back in practiced comfort. There was, now, no point in denying that she had been housing a convict.

          “As well as she ever is.” Narcissa informed her. Andromeda hummed back before biting her lip. For a second, it seemed to Narcissa that Andromeda was younger in this low light, that there were no crow’s feet beside her eyes or lines across her cheeks. She could picture her here, in this room sitting on dark high backed chairs, singing to herself while Narcissa played and Bellatrix ran in circles with their cousins. Narcissa herself, felt oddly young, and confused. The day had been hellish and nauseating. And now she wanted nothing more than to have her sister next to her and for her to pet her hair and whisper stories to her as Andromeda had done when they were young.

          “We best go collect our children.” Andromeda announced, all youth fleeing her face in an instant, no longer looking unsure and lost, “Draco hasn’t had enough of Nymphadora to stand her alone for too long. She is not kind on your traditional sensibilities.” Andromeda said, a little snidely. Narcissa ignored her comment with a sniff and followed her sister from the room.

          Andromeda had not been wrong. Her sister’s florescent haired daughter was attempting to cook when they entered the kitchen and talking like a pixie given sugar. Draco was looking at her with unconcealed horror. Not that her niece noticed. She was too busy cheerily attempting to burn the house down. While Narcissa looked on, matching her son’s horror, Andromeda snorted, alerting their children to their presence.

          “Dora, you are going to set the room on fire. Go sit down. What have I told you about wands and kitchens?”

          “Oh Mum, good, I was just trying to get a little dinner ready.” She sheepishly showed her mother the pot of burnt noodles.

          “No wands in the kitchen until you figure out how to cast a scourgify that doesn't take the paint off the walls. Now move, go sit down.” Andromeda shooed her daughter from the cooking bench to the table.

          Narcissa came to stand beside her son, who was resolutely looking down at the table, making no move. His hands were still shaking. Nymphadora sat across from him, and having now noticed that he was in no mood for any such jabbering, did not continue to talk mindlessly. Narcissa noticed Andromeda, now floating pots onto the stove, look over her shoulder for a moment at Draco and his shaking hands. She turned away.

          “Narcissa, the vegetable’s please and Dora, tell us what the Order is planning.”

          Narcissa moved to the bench and began to slice the assortment of vegetables her sister had indicated.

          “Well, as soon as we can get Harry here, we’ll be able to transfer the Fidelius charm over to you. Shouldn’t be too hard. He’s already said he agrees you’d be the best secret keeper. It’ll take a few days, however, so Shaklebolt is going to come over with some others and put up a few wards. I think Bill’s going to come see if he can help. Says he’s got some curses he’s picked up from Egypt that aren’t well known around here.”

          “A good head on his shoulders that one. Settling down with that French girl isn’t he?”

          Narcissa did not care about some boy and his french girl. She cared very much, however, that Harry Potter was needed to ward Grimmauld place. She stopped cutting the vegetables and faced her sister.

          “The Potter boy? Why must he be present?” Narcissa asked sharply. Draco looked up then, frowning at his mother and then at his Aunt.

          “Oh, I thought you knew.” Andromeda said, pouring out water from the pot and plating the food. “Sirius was his Godfather and as Sirius was the last of the Black heirs, and Harry was legally his ward, Harry is the inheritor of the Black line and, consequently, this house.” She scooped up the vegetables from the cutting board and placed them into the pasta. “Didn’t seem very keen to take it, I heard. He took Sirius’s death very hard.”

          “Sirius Black?” Draco asked, the same moment that Narcissa asked “Why did it not go to Bellatrix or I? Or you?”

          “Well,” Andromeda said, ignoring Draco’s question and placing the plates around the table, “we Blacks did enjoy our old lines of succession. There’s a reason that aunty married within the family. And the ‘Potter boy’ has Black blood in him from a few generations back. Which seems to be good enough. Now eat.” Andromeda said pointedly at Draco who was still staring at his Aunt.

          “But he was a murderer!” Draco exclaimed.

          “As you almost were.” Andromeda said snidely, taking her seat. Narcissa took a sharp breath and Draco looked away, as if he had been slapped. Dora gave her mother a look and quickly interjected,

          “No, no look, Sirius was never the Potter’s secret keeper to begin with. It was their other friend, Pettigrew. He’s the one who told You-Know-Who where the Potters were and set Sirius up. He was hiding out here for the last two years. Harry would come stay here for a bit over the summer and holidays to see him and get away from his relatives. A right nasty bunch they are.”

          Draco crinkled his nose distastefully. 

          “Pettigrew did that?”  Draco asked. Narcissa, had she not known, would have agreed with her son. Pettigrew was a fool and a coward.

          “Yes, well, even a rat will get lucky.” Andromeda said, stiffly.

          “Do you know where Pettigrew is, Draco?” Nymphadora asked, giving Draco more focus than she had exhibited in the last few hours. Draco shrank from her.

          “He is always with the Dark Lord.” Narcissa answered, instead, “He’s something like a servant.”

          “Aren’t you all?” Andromeda asked, lightly, cutting into her chicken.

          “I never took the mark.” Narcissa said looking above her sister’s head and sitting beside Draco. 

Draco, she noticed, was clutching his arm beneath the table. Andromeda noticed as well and did not comment further and said instead,

          “Eat. You have some long weeks ahead of you and we can’t afford to have you sick. The Order doesn’t have time to deal with it.”

          They ate silently, with tired hands until Andromeda stood and with a sharp flick of her wand sent the dishes to the sink.

          “I’ll be off then. I’ll be back tomorrow with supplies.” Andromeda announced, brushing off her robes. Nymphadora smiled at her brightly. 

          “Say hello to Dad for me, will you? I’ll be over for dinner this weekend.” 

          “Of course. Bring Remus with you as well, he looks worse every time I see him.” She hugged her daughter briefly and turned to her sister and nephew. 

          “You’ll be safe here, make no worry of that. Dora is staying the night with you, and some other members will be coming later. We’ll sort the rest out in the morning.” With a last glance at her sister, Andromeda left, heading for the flu in the other room. Nymphadora gave a quick clap, when her mother had gone, and smiled at them with some strain.

          “Alright, let's show you up to your rooms then.”

  She bounded, ungainly, up the stairs to the second floor. Narcissa followed, with Draco close behind her, shuffling and looking around the house in dismay. Narcissa could guess why, beyond the sudden change. They could not have come to a place more different from Malfoy manor, which was large and light and glistening. Grimmauld Place, even in its highest hour, could never have been described as glistening, as impressive as it had been.

          Nymphadora came to a halt in front of two open wood doors. The rooms beyond had small candles placed on dressers and side tables, offering only a dull light.

          “Here’s your room, Narcissa. Draco’s is next to it. I’m just across the hall, if you need me and the other members sleep upstairs.” She hopped from foot to foot briefly as Narcissa pursed her lips and lifted a brow, too tired to be patient any longer.

“I’ll just let you all get settled.” Nymphadora said, backing away. “Someone will come get you for breakfast tomorrow.” She turned and left them.

          Narcissa faced her room. It had been her parent’s when they had stayed. Little had changed about it, unlike the other more public rooms. As a guest room, there had never been anything potentially offensive placed in it. The dresser hadn’t even moved. Draco’s room had been where she and her sister’s had always stayed. It too had hardly changed.

          Narcissa Malfoy, from the great House of Black, grasped her child’s hand, her child who was almost laughably close to adulthood, who towered over her in height and shrank down next to her now. Her child who had plotted murder, who had become the plaything to greater powers, who had escaped and had come for her. Her child who was as terrified as he was brave, he reached for her hand as well. For a moment they stood in the empty hall of a house of people who would hate them, now. But only a moment. Narcissa let go of her Draco’s hand and he let go of hers and they left each other for their own rooms, with little else said.

          She was a Black and a Malfoy, after all, and he was her son. They would survive. They would persist.


	2. Tread My Mother’s Wrist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so this was actually written months ago and I'm apparently so good at putting things off that I'm only getting around to posting this now. Because I'm awful.  
> But here it is! And we get to hear from Draco and Andromeda! So yay for that.  
> Chapter title from "My Mother Would Be a Falconress" by Robert Duncan

The sheets were stiff and smelt of dust and stale breath. He fisted his hands into them and stared at the bedroom wall where a small portrait of an old woman snored gently, peacefully. Draco tried to calm himself, taking steady breaths and stilling his shaking hands. He could not hear his mother in the other room and that was almost a comfort. He could not hear an absence either.

            The Order, the lot of mudbloods and fools, had not asked for Lucius. Draco had not asked either.

            The Dark Lord would have known what had happened soon after his followers had found him missing; if not from that than by his mother’s escape. It would have taken an hour or two at most. Aunt Bellatrix would be baffled at first, before she became angry. She would stare about in confusion, uncomprehending, asking for her sister, her nephew. Then there would only be fury. Draco had only glimpsed at what his Aunt was capable of in their occlumency lessons. Bellatrix had tried to be gentle, in her own way, but Bellatrix only understood softness until it was no longer useful. He had seen more than enough. But worse, worse still than his Aunt and the cold wrath of the Dark Lord, was what would be whispered behind the masks of the followers and the quiet snickers echoed by ivory.

            Watch a House fall. Watch the Malfoys dance.

            His father would be almost dead now, twitching on the floor under the indifferent stare of the Dark Lord and the mad fury of Aunt Bellatrix. Then Lucius would not move at all.

            If he could step back into his self of a day ago, to remake decisions and change plans, Draco could not say he would have asked for any different. He, Draco, the Dark Lord could let go with only vague plans of torture if the opportunity arose. His mother would be forgotten with barely a thought; only her sister’s deep well of hate would remember her. Lucius would have been chased had he been taken. Not for protection, not to thwart the Order’s plans, but out of ownership. We seek our own property.

            Draco Malfoy slept fitfully in the house of his mother’s family. He dreamt of a snake’s head and his father’s voice telling him his duties to their name like a bedtime story.

\-----------------------------------------------

 

            Narcissa woke before dawn inside of a musty room, on her own, beneath the thin covers. She had not woken on her own since the last war. Those were bloody days, laced with more uncertainty than fear. They were days when an empty bed meant a dead husband and a fatherless child. A dead husband meant a widow. But she was not at home, in her bed with light silk sheets and tall windows overhead. She was in Grimmauld Place in the bed of her dead parents.

            Her husband might be dead as well. He had not been brought here.

            She had known as soon as the Order had come for her that they would not go searching for Lucius. They made no mention of him and as they hurriedly helped her place her belongings into trunks they had left his things untouched. No, they would offer no sanctuary for her Death Eater husband.

            She had sent him a warning instead, encoded and fast, to leave Britain, to find his own sanctuary with foreign friends or family. She sent him a small ring that glowed lightly when touched. It would drag Lucius away, somewhere safe. Her mother had given it to her on her wedding night with a whisper that should she ever need an escape, there was a place to run to. Her mother had never been a fool. She had lost two daughters to a war and had no desire to lose her third.

            The ring would bring Lucius to a Château in the hills of France that had no other occupants but two aging house elves. It would be enough, if it got to him safely. From there it was only a matter of contacting family or friends. The French had never found much interest in their war, they would not care why Lucius was running.

            Narcissa sat up, still in her robes as her trunks had not been brought to her. She was possibly a widow and possibly a wife. She was as much a blood traitor as her eldest sister was, although they were not on the same side. Her other sister, what little she had left of her, would now hate her. Her home was lost.

            She rose from the bed and checked herself in the mirror, straightening her bed robes. There was a hair brush in the second drawer of the dresser. It was silver and glittered with emeralds along the hilt. On the back was a woman with a snake wrapped around her waist, lounging and unashamed of her small nakedness. Narcissa began the unfamiliar task of brushing her hair with no wand and pinning it back in place.

            Narcissa was a mother. She was a mother and her son, though barely, was a child. And he was scared. She, Narcissa reassured herself as she gently pulled a knot and pursed her lips from the sting of her scalp, was a mother still.

            There was a knock at the door as she placed the last pin into her hair. Nymphadora was outside, smile more forced than yesterday. Behind her floated Narcissa's trunks.

            “Morning! Brought your things so you could get dressed. Sorry you couldn’t have them yesterday, but Moody insisted on checking them.” Her niece told her, rolling her eyes and pushing back her shocking hair. Ah, Moody. Yes he wouldn’t be pleased to have them here.

            Narcissa stepped back to allow Nymphadora into the room. Narcissa’s trunks floated behind her, the five of them bouncing off of each other noisily before settling in a clumsy nest next to her bed.

            “That one is Draco’s.” Narcissa said of the last trunk, before it could plod itself down.

            “Oh, well, I’ll just leave it here.” She said, directing the trunk back out the door to rest between Narcissa’s and Draco’s rooms. “He won’t need anything right away, he has his school trunk.” Nymphadora again made an effort to smile widely at her. Narcissa did not grace her with one back as she looked at her trunks, all made of dark wood and silver, all pieces of master craft.

            “Is my sister here yet?” Narcissa asked.

            This is when Nymphadora began to fidget nervously.

            “No, she’ll be here later. But there are some other Order members, downstairs. Professor McGonagall is going to stop by later as well, once she’s finished at Hogwarts.

            So there was to be a parade of them then, all here to stare at the turn coats.

            “Anyway, breakfast is downstairs in the kitchen when you’re ready. I’ll just go wake Draco then.” She said, but her aunt stopped her.

            “No,” she said, sharply now and looking at her niece, “I will wake him.”

            Nymphadora bit her cheek and looked at her aunt as she had Draco for those few moments the night before, her eyes keen and broadly suspicious, though Nymphadora didn’t question her. It only lasted and instant before Nymphadora gave a quick nod that made her hair bounce about her head, and a small grin before she shuffled off, calling behind her

            “I’d get ready fast, the eggs go quick!”

            Narcissa closed the door behind her and took a short breath before going to the trunk she had filled with her clothing. Someone had indeed gone through it. Her robes were hastily folded back in place and the boxes of her jewelry were nested randomly about. She didn’t have time to right it all.

            She picked through her robes for the least wrinkled and smoothed them out over her bed. This was a decision she was prepared to make. She had been taught by all of high society how to dress when people were coming to gawk at embarrassment.

            She put on a black over robe atop a dark green under robe. Plain and more somber than her usual attire, but tasteful and inoffensive. She left her dirty robes on her bed, unmade in a fit of peevishness and did not remove her belongings from her trunks. Petty, pointless gestures that punished no one. She felt better regardless.

            She stalked from her room and went to her son’s. She knocked primly at the door and waited for a polite three seconds. Draco did not answer. Had they been in any other house, after any other day, she would have moved on. Her son would have merely been asleep. But there were murderers and revenge takers to think of now. She pushed the door open without a creak.

            Draco was asleep on top of the sheets, still in his school robes. He was as pale as last night, but in his sleep the underlying terror did not affect his expression. If it were not for the dark circles beneath his eyes, the same that his father was prone to, he looked as he always had. Fair, with a thin face and the thin limbs of young men. Too thin, perhaps, but Narcissa pushed that away and told herself not to notice. She sat next to him and shook his arm softly as she had when he was younger and would indulge herself with waking her son instead of sending a house elf.

            He woke with the same twitching panic he had the night before, twisting himself away from her and reaching for a wand that was not there.

            “Draco, Draco, it’s me.” Narcissa said, reaching and steadying his arm. He shut his eyes and took slow breaths before letting his head fall against the wall. He looked at her then, with thin pressed lips.

            “Good morning.” She said to him brusquely, pulling herself off the bed. “Your cousin has sent our trunks.” She went to the doorway and grasped the handle of the trunk in the hall and hauled it into the room with the dignity she could. She could not remember the last time she had lifted something that weighed more than a thick book.

            “There is breakfast downstairs.” She told him, lifting the lid and frowning at the disarrayed clothing. She pulled out a shirt before hastily tucking it back in and reaching for another. Her son didn’t say anything.

            “There are Order members here as well and there will be more. Your Professor, McGonagall, will be here later as well as your Aunt Andromeda. We will discuss our future plans then.”

            She found a white collared shirt and dark trousers, almost in a muggle fashion. Almost. No one could ever say that Narcissa Malfoy could not play to an audience. She laid them across her son’s undisturbed bed. Then she looked at him.

            He did not meet her eyes, instead clutched his knees and looked past a small portrait of her Aunt’s favorite cousin.

            “What has been done, has been done.” She told him, and stood with her hands clasped in front of her. “We are safe here, as long as the wards and charms hold. If nothing has gone astray, your father should be out of the country with Grandmother’s family.” He looked up at her then. “This is not ideal, but we are safer here than we would be in our home.” She ran out of comforts to give him. There were things she did not know how to tell him.

            She had asked Lucius to run, when his mark had burned two years ago. She had asked him again, when Draco had received his own. And again, just mere months before, when their house had been all but taken from them. He had shaken his head and gone when the Dark Lord called him, left her nothing more than a reminder that if she was going to have treacherous thoughts, she would need to work on her mental shields.

            She kept this to herself.

            “I’m going to the kitchen. When you are ready, you may join me.” She made her way to the door and paused before she left.

            “I wouldn’t be late. I’ve been told the eggs ‘go fast’.” She did not look to see if he smiled, but left to descend the stairs.

            She stopped just short of the kitchen and took stock. Nymphadora was at the table, a full plate in front or her. Next to her was a thin man with red and grey hair, whose plate was just as filled, if not being given the same attention that her niece was giving hers. It was Weasley. She had seen him on occasion, at Ministry functions and at the Quidditch tournament. She could hardly recognize him from their school days.

            Alastor Moody was across from them, his horrid eye swiveling around the room. It stopped on her and his real eye followed suit. They stared at each other a moment before he looked away and continued his surveillance. He did not say anything about her being there.

            The woman at the counter, who was conducting the pots and the pans, was red headed as well. She was stout and round and her hair, while pinned, flew around her head in a frenzy when she turned. Her eyes were almost as red as her hair and her motions were jerky and annoyed. She sniffled, loudly, as she worked, trying to discreetly wipe at her eyes.

            Prewett, her mind supplied. Molly Prewett. She had been a sixth year when Narcissa had started at Hogwarts. Her brothers had been popular at school and outside of it, until they had been killed. She remembered that night, if only because Lucius had been elsewhere. She had known, at some point, that Prewett and Weasley had been married with a brood of children. If she thought hard enough, she might even remember their names. It had been years though, since the Weasleys had been popular gossip topics, and she had never found any interest in them beyond a slight sneer and the complaints that Draco had against one of their sons.

            Molly Weasley banged a pot noiDily against the counter.

            “I don’t understand why they’ve been placed here.” Molly said.

            “It’s the safest place we have, dear.” Weasley told her, trying to be reasonable. Nymphadora looked up from her plate.

            “They’re a risk to the other safe houses. We don’t really understand the full extent of the Dark Mark. We know it can be ignored but it takes a lot of effort and evading tactics that 16 year olds don’t have. We don’t know if they go both ways either. Anywhere with less security is an unknown risk we can’t take.” Nymphadora offered, while shooting looks at Mad-Eye, who gave her an approving nod. Molly Weasley turned around, lips pinched tight together and hands on her hips.

            “Who knows how much of a risk they are here? This is Harry’s home now and we’re housing the family of the woman who killed Sirius!”

            “They were Sirius’s family too.” Arthur pointed out but was quelled by his wife’s glare.

            “And the boy is why Albus is dead, he’s why Bill-.” Molly said and choked off as she looked savagely about the room while attempting to wipe her eyes.

            “He did not kill Albus.” Arthur told her, softly, “And Bill is going to be fine. Albus knew what he was doing long before it happened. He offered Draco a chance and the boy took it. This was the Headmaster’s choice and plan. He told Severus what to do.”       

Molly narrowed her eyes at her husband and Nymphadora looked between them, uncertain, while Mad-eye ignored them best he could while constantly watching them. Narcissa did not give Molly any time to retort and stepped into the room.

            “Good morning.” She offered, looking at each cooly. Molly’s expression soured further. She turned sharply away and back to the stove. Her pots became more agitated. Tonks offered her a small smile and a wave over her plate. Mad-eye lifted an eyebrow in her direction but made no comment or gesture. Weasley was the only one to respond.

            “Oh, yes, good morning. Would you like a plate?” He asked, flustered but clearly assuming that Narcissa should not be near his wife, as he stood and filled a plate for her that he placed at the far end of the table, next to Nymphadora. Molly Wesley made disapproving noises as he spoke and fixed the plate. Narcissa gave him a small nod as she sat and began to eat.

            The eggs, she found, were excellent. It was a shame that she could barely scrape up an appetite.

            “Your husband is out of the country.” Alastor told her, looking at her with both eyes again, just as she had taken a bite. She jerked her head up and swallowed hastily, not truly caring that Mad-eye had done so purposefully. The others were looking at him too but Narcissa did not care about them. Her husband was not in Britain.

            “Oh?” She asked. She had learnt much about the Dark Lord in her years as a Death Eater’s wife. If The Dark Lord had found the ring and knew what it was, it was entirely likely that he would have Lucius dragged across a boarder or into the sea. The Dark Lord had always had a flare for irony.

            “Madam Malfoy has him tucked away somewhere, as I understand it.” His eyes swiveled around the room again. “Know anything about that, Mrs. Malfoy?” Alastor asked. His eye, his natural eye, landed on her again when she did not answer.

            “Might I remind you that the agreement of your safety is contingent on the giving of information?” Mad-eye said.

            “I sent him a portkey. It was a gift from my mother.” Moody did not seem to need anything more, able to piece it together on his own.

            “Lucky you then. They figured it all out rather fast, so I’m told.”

Mad-Eye was not being kind. He was, at the least, baiting her. She couldn’t have cared less. Her mind was singing ‘Alive, alive, alive, he’s alive’ to her more loudly than if she had been shouting it.

            The place of perhaps widow was an unpleasant and unstable realm. She was not sorry to leave it.

            Molly Weasley was looking at her now as well, eyes narrowed and mouth pursed. It did not seem malevolent. More pondering and perhaps confused. Narcissa still did not care. Her niece, however wasn’t about to let it drop,

            “When did you manage to send him a ring?” She demanded, swallowing a bite. Narcissa’s eyes gave a small twitch at her table manners.

            “When you and your colleagues were looking for the last trunk. I dashed him off a letter and sent it with our house elf.”

            Alastor gave a loud and unimpressed snort. His swirling eye stopped on Nymphadora.

            “What did I tell you about leaving people alone? They get up to things.” He brought his cane down sharply in the tile. “Constant. Vigilance.” He said and thumped the cane on the floor again for emphasis. “Could have been sending word to the Dark Lord and you would be a pink smear on the ground.”

            Nymphadora blushed bright red and was about to retort when Draco entered the room. Narcissa did not see him come in behind her, but Nymphadora cut herself off and smiled beyond her Aunt’s head. Narcissa turned around.

            Draco was looking around the room, eyeing Mad-eye with particular wariness. He was dressed neatly, with his hair combed and face washed but it could not disguise the bags beneath his eyes or the twitching of his fingers. His arms were crossed and he was scowling.

            “Morning Draco!” Nymphadora said, ignoring the added tensions in the room. “We saved some eggs for you!”

            Draco did not say anything to her but acknowledged her greeting with a deeper scowl. He sat next to his mother and kept glancing at Alastor. Moody seemed more amused than anything. Narcissa shot Moody a glare. While it may not have been him, she did remember the ferret incident. And she had not appreciated it.

            A plate was placed, perhaps a tad roughly, in front of Draco, who started at the noise. Molly Weasley, her eyes still narrowed and lips still pursed stood in front of him, tapping her foot.

            “Well?” She said after a moment when Draco looked at her but did not speak. Under the table Narcissa gripped his arm, allowing her nails to pinch slightly.

            “Thank you.” He said petulantly but it seemed to be enough for Molly who huffed and went back to her counter and collected her own breakfast but her eyes had softened and her face was drastically less red than it had been. It was more than Narcissa had expected. Arthur Weasley sitting across from Nymphadora watched the exchange too and let out a breath he had been holding, relieved. He caught Narcissa’s eye for a moment and he gave her a sympathetic grimace before his wife sat next to him and he patted her hand affectionately.

            Narcissa was not sure how she felt, having Arthur Weasley as an ally. A curl of ‘blood traitor’ wrapped around her head.

            The meal passed in silence, Nymphadora’s attempts at small talk were assassinated swiftly between Molly Weasley’s almost tangible disapproval and Draco’s halting and one worded answers.

            The Weasley’s left soon after, to attend to their children and make their own preparations for Albus Dumbledore’s funeral. Narcissa only excused herself and her son once they had left, refusing to be run out by Molly Weasley. Narcissa returned to her room, Draco trailing behind her, eager to leave the kitchen. Alastor Moody stayed, banging around the ground floor and inspecting rooms.

            Narcissa closed her door, her son behind her. She made her way around the room and flipped over the few family paintings on the wall and took a seat on the chair next to her bed. She ignored the portraits insulted and muted grumbling. Alastor had made it very clear that they would not be offered any charity and Narcissa was not keen to offer any in kind. The Order would get their information, but only when given.

           If Draco perhaps gripped his arms too tightly and avoided her eyes, well, Narcissa could ignore that and focus instead on his improving health. Her son looked better, with more color in his cheeks.

            “Alastor has brought news that your father is safe in France with grand-mère, where he will stay until it is safe.” Narcissa told him. Draco took a sharp breath. Now he looked at her.

            “How?” He asked, eyes wide.

            “I sent him a portkey when it became clear that the Order was not going to offer him the same sanctuary.” She said with no small amount of loathing. Draco’s face went pale and his lips thinned. She reached out and took his hand, squeazing it gently. Yes, he should be angry, Narcissa thought. He had only agreed with Dumbledore’s terms if his family was kept safe. Well, Narcissa knew the weight of Dumbledore’s promises. He was a man of the greater picture and more cunning than kind.

            “Do not expect any good will, Draco.” Narcissa warned, “We are useful and we will only be given safety so long as we are useful. We need to know what we have to offer and what we need to do to continue to appear useful, even after our knowledge runs dry.”

            Draco, Narcissa knew, had very little to offer and she knew that he did not know this. But Narcissa, quiet Narcissa who watched from behind and listened, she had bargaining chips. A Death Eater’s wife was dangerous. Anyone who had knowledge and a talent for going unnoticed was dangerous. She pulled a quill and a harmless looking journal from her trunk and motioned Draco closer. They had plans to make.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

            Andromeda had an exhausting night. She had taken the floo home to her husband, who had, bless him, made her dessert and probably ruined the kitchen. It said so much about her changing temperament that she found this far more endearing than annoying. In their decades of marriage she could never find it in herself to be annoyed when Ted looked so eager and sympathetic. And his biscuits were fantastic.

            “And how was the family, Meda?” He asked, with wide open arms, as she stepped through the fire. She leaned into him and took a few calming breaths.

            “Slightly better than usual if one can overlook how many people would like them dead.”

            “Ah yes,” Ted replied, holding her, “But just think of all the people who no longer want them dead and would happily settle for public embarrassment? It all must balance out, yes?”

            Andromeda snorted and wrapped her arms around him as well, hugging him back.

            Ah Ted, her Ted. Not quite short, not quite tall, not quite handsome and not quite homely but always, always in good humor and ready to cheer.  She was well aware of why she had left home for him. The Black House had very little cheer to occupy it.

            “Well, there’s biscuits for you on the table and open ears to hear all about it on your charming date.” He let go of her and they sat and ate and Andromeda allowed him to cheer her as he always did.

            “Draco doesn’t seem to be doing so well, then is he?” Ted asked, once she had told him how Nymphadora had fared and she and Ted had cleared the dishes and got on with cleaning the disaster in the kitchen, flicking their wands along the benches and cupboards.

            “I can’t blame him, exactly.” Andromeda said, giving the floor a quick clean and moving to the sink.

            “But you want to?” Tad asked from the far window. Andromeda puffed and paused.

            “No, no I don’t. He just reminds me of Regulus. Stupid and desperate. And I want to blame him but I can’t. We were all just as stupid at that age.”

            “A bit more hateful and destructive than most teenage stupidity.” Ted pointed out, “Very few orchestrate the murder of their headmaster.”

            “Yes.” Andromeda said, looking at her husband. She knew what he meant.

             “You never have to meet them.” She told him, “But Narcissa is my sister and I’m not sure what to do other than to help her.”

            “I know, love.” Ted told her with a tired smile, strained but fond around the edges. Ted understood family loyalty like she did, even if he did not understand family betrayal. There would always be a small part of her that would be jealous that he could exist in such an understood place within his own family. He knew how to love them without guilt or pain. Andromeda still loved her family, even the sticky dark parts of it that were steeped in a thousand years of blood and power. She had to, if she was to love the bright parts of them as well. She sometimes hated herself for that, for needing to love them anyway, even when they would not love her. Even when they would not love anything but themselves.

            “I can’t blame him. I spent years wishing that Regulus had done the same, years knowing that if he had lived a little longer, he would have. It’s too much hypocrisy for me to swallow.” She gave her wand a small shake and the dishes flew into motion, a bit more hurriedly than usual. Ted leaned to her and kissed her cheek.

            “And how was Narcissa? I can’t really imagine her fleeing anywhere. She tended to have that effect on people at school. She had little firsties running from her in the halls before they even knew who she was.” Andromeda shrugged and twisted her lip slightly.

            “She’s more scared than she knows, I think. Possibly more scared of me than anything. But that’s Narcissa.” Andromeda sighed again, “The world could end and she’d keep her head on straight and her hair done.” She lowered her wand and turned to Ted and said, more quietly, “They really are in danger. I don’t know how Lucius is still alive, if he is. Under Harry Potter himself, they’ll be the most wanted people in Britain.” Ted tucked her under his arm and Andromeda snorted before she turned to hug her husband. “But I can’t say I’m too disappointed about Lucius. I did always think Narcissa could do better.” Ted tried to look at her firmly and uphold some moral standing but he wasn’t very good at masking his distaste for Lucius Malfoy. He had lamented for days after the Malfoy wedding that he just couldn’t accept now being related to ‘The Malicious and Mediocre Malfoys’, jokingly insisting that Andromeda should get herself disowned.

            Andromeda laughed at the look on his face, struggling not laugh himself. Andromeda never claimed that she or her husband were the best kind of people, only that they could always make the best fun out of a bad situation. And she was glad for it.

            They went off to bed then, giggly and pretending, if only for a little while, that the world was not as terrible as it had proved itself to be. Andromeda slept soundly, her worries soothed for the night under her husband’s fond smile and the deep belief that at least someone, somewhere, would find this entire situation more funny than tragic. Even if it must be Andromeda herself.

           

            Andromeda arrived at Grimmauld place at twelve the next day, after lunch. Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall were waiting for her in the side room of the front hall. McGonagall was sitting on the maroon couch, far more dignified than should be possible, as Moody stood in the corner, eye spinning.

            It wasn’t obvious, at first, that Minerva had been crying but Andromeda knew better than to think she hadn’t.

            “When will his funeral be?” Andromeda asked her, not bothering with pleasantries. They had been like this since her school days, Minerva and her. They didn’t waste any time with anything other than what they needed from the other. Andromeda had missed that, after leaving school and the whole world interacted with her in layers she didn’t care to parse through. And what else, now, could Andromeda ask her?

            “Before school lets out, so that the students may attend.”

            “Gives the dignitaries and important folk time to get there and look good.” Moody added in a growl. Andromeda ignored him. No point in acknowledging the truth.

            “Let Ted and I know if we can do anything, Minerva, though I have no doubt there will be no lack of help.” Minerva smiled thinly at her before shaking herself off and getting to business.

            “Enough of this then, the other members have assembled in the dining hall, unless you would like to see your sister first?” McGonagall questioned as she moved to leave the room, a thin brow raised.

            “No time for reunions,” Moody interrupted, following Minerva, “Snape’s only got an hour and there’s too much paranoia in the ranks for him to be gone too long. Get a move on.” He thumped his way out of the room, Minerva in pursuit.

            Andromeda followed them out and down toward the dining hall where she could hear the ruckus of the Order before a silencing charm is cast. She did not want to face them, still in the midst of mourning and grief fueled paranoia. She was not a member, after all, and her family was a mark against her. Having Narcissa here would not help. Even disowned and as good as dead to her family, the House of Black had a long shadow she could not escape. In wizarding eyes, the surname Black would always outshine any married muggle name she could take. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up, tempted briefly to go and find her sister and do nothing but look at her and take note of all the age in her face. They would not talk because Andromeda would have nothing to say but accusations and it was too late for those. They would only be, existing together in a silent room.

Andromeda marched into the meeting behind Minerva, despite what she imagined would be an unpleasant initiation into the Order of the Phoenix. It was still far more pleasant than having to face the knowledge that even being given back a sister, Andromeda still had nothing to say to her. Andromeda had grown fond of pretending that it was only absence and time that had truly separated them. She wanted a little more time to learn to give that illusion up.

            The room hushed slightly when she entered and eyes fell upon her. She did as she had been taught, as the good daughter of the House of Black and as an outcast, and stared back before seating herself beside Remus Lupin, who offered her a tired smile. A long day stretched out a head of them.


End file.
